I Wonder
by ToiletWater
Summary: It wasn't some thing that we ever brought up. Don't think of it as worrying, but rather as a precaution. VelmaRoxie. Could be one-sided, depending on how you look at it. Written as a one-shot, capability to expand.


Summary : I wonder why she even brought it up to begin with. You should've known you had this fanfic comin! VelmaRoxie, rated NC-17.

Disclaimer: -- No owning. TT

A/N: Please review! If you like it I may continue it.

I wonder if she knows.

Though I highly doubt it. In fact, I doubt she even notices the contrast between black and white. And if she does, she doesn't care. It's out of her range of caring.

It's late at night- midnight, to be precise- and the both of us are still wide awake. It's become a lifestyle, really. Many of our performances are late at night. Tonight, however, there is no performance. We're merely awake because of our body clocks. Although Roxie may be kept awake by her desire to finish the bowl of Lucky Charms she's just now poured herself.

Now that it's midnight, I realize, it is exactly four months to the date since we started living together. Not that it really means any thing but that we've been peacefully cooperating for just slightly over three months. The first few weeks we had to spend getting used to each other's habits; like her habit to leave the coffee pot on even after she's poured the coffee, or leave soap at the bottom of the shower (this one was discovered rather painfully). I've also observed that when she's nervous, she looks at magazines and plays with her hair, when she doesn't believe me she hesitates in her speech, and when she's lying her voice becomes just slightly high-pitched as opposed to her average voice. She also has a certain look when she needs to tell me some thing...I can't describe it, but I know what it is. I wonder if she's noticed any thing about me, though I doubt it once again. And if she has, she doesn't care.

Really, it's okay with me if she doesn't know any thing. I don't want her to know if she doesn't care, and if she hasn't figured it out I know it's out of her range of caring. Roxie isn't dumb. Selfish? Extremely. Childish? Even more so. Bitchy when on her period? Painfully. But not dumb. In fact, I know that if she cared, she could figure it out for herself.

At the moment, she's actually standing right in front of the TV and lucky that the only thing on television right now is black and white Mickey Mouse cartoons. Her purple pajamas look fuzzy, and they are decorated with little rainbows. It's the kind of sight that makes me quirk a brow for a moment, but I quickly return to my cigarette.

There's the look. She needs to say some thing. I inhale my cigarette and, after I've exhaled the smoke, I decide to open the conversation. "Cat got your tongue?"

She finishes chewing and swallowing, then looks directly at me. For some one who hates me, she certainly does tell me a lot. From there, she moves over to the couch- making it a point to sit directly opposite me on the cushions (as she always does when ever the two of us decide to sit on the same piece of furniture)- and looks at me, again, though it seems more at my hair than at my face. I wonder how uncomfortable it could possibly be for her to say.

"I'm sorry..." she starts, then pauses to wipe milk off her chin; "...for saying that."

"Saying what?" I ask, wondering if I sound as disinterested to her as I do to myself.

"...about the chocolate."

The statement makes me laugh. She's trying to slip by me again, derail the conversation from what she was originally going to say. I briefly consider whether or not she could actually be sorry before I suck in another breath off of my cigarette, puff out, and speak; "Is that it?"

"No..." she responds honestly, probably already knowing full well that I would know if she was lying. At this point, she refuses to make eye contact with me.

"Spill it, then. There's more room outside in this atmosphere than inside."

"Well..." she starts, setting her bowl down on the coffee table and using the motion as a method of turning towards me. "...do...you ever feel bad...about Charlie...and..." she stops there, holding on to the 'and' a while as she contorts her face in an attempt to remember. "...Viktoria?"

"Veronica." I correct her, taking another inhale of my cigarette.

"Oh, right. Veronica." she nods.

Now, this is some thing that neither of us ever really talks about. Of course, I know she did it- and she probably knows I did. If she doesn't know, it was never any thing that mattered to her enough to find out. Any ways, this isn't some thing that is too often brought up, but is on our minds often enough. I mean, if you were living with a murderer- or a murderess, for that matter- I'm sure you'd think about it. It comes out the most when one of us uses a knife in the kitchen (for any use, could be chopping onions, spreading peanut butter, any thing similar); the other one of us will stand in the door way and hover, watching for a while as though their very life depended on it. But we don't talk about it.

Well, I suppose now we do. Honestly it wouldn't bother me too much to talk about, I just don't want too many questions. Some people have a tendency to just keep going on a roll with their questions and I grow tired and agitated quickly with it. I think it's never brought up because the idea of either of us being killed by the other is frightening, and there's some type of linear connotation that I can never bother myself to name. Of course, she probably doesn't know that I would only kill these days if I was going to be killed if I didn't. And I don't know the same about her, though if I did, I wouldn't know if it were true or not. I'm still pretty sure she won't kill me, least of all yet. I still provide a service for her. After all, I lend her my fame and fortune- and she knows it.

Oh yes. She asked me a question.

"Well..do ya?"

"Veronica..." I tell her, then proceeding to blow smoke out of my mouth in the most hilariously literal way. "my sister's life wasn't worth that scum bag. "

"Why did you kill her?"

"I was in a rage, I suppose." I shrug; "And she would be a reliable witness. What about you?" I stop there and take another puff, finishing the cigarette and grinding it's remains into the ash tray on the end table right next to me. "You ever feel bad?"

"Some times I wish it wouldn't have been me who did it." she replies, once again refusing to make eye contact, this time staring down at the couch. "Velma?"

"Hm?"

"You know how I killed Fred. How did you kill Sammy and Veronica?"

"Charlie." I correct again. How hard can it possibly be to remember?

"Oh, right. Veronica and Charlie."

She remembers it that way. "I thought I mentioned when we first met that I can't remember a thing that happened."

"I don't buy it." she tells me casually, though I could have figured that out for myself- if she would just fucking _look _at me.

"You're smart." I reply smirking.

_It was 11:30 when I finally got back with the bag of ice. The trip had only taken about 15 minutes on it's own, but I'll be damned if there wasn't a line all the way to Georgia when I got there. Any ways, I was finally back; I slammed my key card into the hotel room door and got in as quickly as a could. Some bastard on the road had already pissed me off to no end and I knew I needed to calm down._

_I wonder if it was because they didn't notice me standing there that they continued. My whole body went numb- and I'm sure it wasn't from the way I was carrying the ice. Right in front of me they stood, Veronica's legs spread wide to Charlie's face the way he was holding her. The next sight sent electrical shots through my body, because if I couldn't have already figured out what they were doing, there it was- once again, right in front of me. His tongue...her clit...I couldn't stand it, the sound of her groaning into a scream turned my stomach. My back went from numb to cold, as though some one had just poured ice water all down my shoulder blades. _

_"Just what the hell..." I barely managed out, seething as I clutched the bag of ice at it's top; "do you two think you're doing?" _

_Charlie jumped and dropped Veronica flat on her head, then turned towards me. "V-Vel-!" he stuttered, eyes widening. _

_"Caught in the act?" I hissed, kicking the door shut. "You live with me, Charles!" he always hated it when I called him Charles; "How long did you think it could go on for before I noticed?!" then, I took the nearest thing to me- the bag of ice- and slammed it into his head to hard that the bag exploded and most of the ice fell out. The motion sent him straight into the wall, recoiling. Veronica tried to scramble away. I let her make it to the bed, so that her back was up against the mattress, her hand reaching for the phone, before I got her, too. "Not so fast, sweet cheeks." I snapped at her, digging my shoe into her waistline, just below her stomach. "What makes you think you, my own sister, have the right to do this- with him- to me!" I started out some what calm, but by the end I was screaming. Every nerve in my body felt wild. I wanted to just let it all out through my body as violently as possible, but I didn't. _

_Charlie was still processing, though physically he seemed to have recoiled. I would have gone at him right then if Veronica wasn't so close to the phone. I moved my foot swiftly over to her rib and kicked her down so that she was on her other side in front of me. Tears were coming down out of her eyes, her body convulsing with tremors of fear. For a moment, I enjoyed that I had that control over her. That satisfied me as far as she was concerned. _

"_Velma…" she squeaked, not daring look up at me. I saw her begin to wriggle her way away from me. I didn't mind, as long as her hand was away from that phone. "..what are you going to do?" _

_Charlie had made his way over to me. I reached up and grabbed him by the chest, using him to distract me from Veronica. Every thing felt like it was rushing around me. I dug my fist into his chest, took a step away from Veronica and slammed him into the wall. _

"_Vel, please," he was breathing hard, his eyes wide as he just stood there and stared at me. Sweat was gathering on his forehead, his hands were shaking- both of them knew rightly of…well, to say 'me' or 'my temper' I don't know- but they knew rightly to be afraid nonetheless. "calm down so we can talk about this.."_

_I made a fist on his shirt, digging my knuckles into his throat. "There's nothing to talk about Charlie. It's sort of obvious what's been going on here, especially the way I walked in- you in nothing but your undershirt and boxers and her with out any thing on below the waist- the sight I saw was sickening." I was seething as I pressed my fist deeper into his throat. "You're afraid now because I know, you never thought-" at that I pulled him down, driving his face into the carpet; "not to do it in the first place?" my head snapped up as I heard a sound- Veronica had stood up, and was grabbing at her clothing, barely able to with the way she was trembling. "And you!" I barked out, glaring deeply at her; "My own sister, to have the nerve to do some thing like this! Don't think I've forgotten about you!" I paused the state I was in with Charlie to force her onto the ground and wrap my fingers around her neck. _

_I pulled my arms up and forced them back down onto the floor as quickly as I could, all the while my rage tuned out her sputters, chokes, and coughs. When I rammed my knee into her stomach, blood spewed out. And then I felt two strong arms behind me; Charlie, no doubt._

"_Don't do this!" he slurred, begging- I think. "Don't do this- not to your own sister!"_

_It was then that I realized I'd had all I wanted with Veronica. I was satisfied. But when I moved my hands, she had already breathed her last breath… apparently I had had enough just as her body had had too much. From there, I reached around and grabbed Charlie by his throat again. _

"_How dare you say that to me," I snarl, glaring into his eyes and putting my face as close to his as possible; "when you didn't even consider that you would be doing this to your own wife!?" I snapped at the end and threw him down with more force than intended. He groaned for a moment out of the pain he was in from hitting his head._

"_Stop it, Vel," he pleaded; "I'll…do any thing to make it up to you."_

"_Oh really?" I smirked, and I could tell that at that moment he was rather pleased with himself._

"_Yes, Velma, any thing…" he promised, looking at Veronica's body every so often with guilt. _

"_You'll die, then." Was my last reply as I grasped his head and reamed it into the wall, causing blood to spew out the back of his head._

_That was it. He sunk to the floor. She laid there limp. The scent of blood on my hands was disgusting, so I went to wash it off. As the cold water hit me, every thing slowed down and I realized my sane mind again._

"_Sorry, Veronica." I mumbled with as little remorse sounding out as possible, then went downstairs to exchange rooms._

Of course, I don't drag it out too badly- rather give her the Readers Digest version.

"You would make a good novelist." She finally says, seeming to have a bit of a hard time processing what I'd just told her.

"Why thank you." I reply, though not quite knowing if she meant it as a compliment. She just nods. I half want to comfort her, but the other half wins and I just sit quietly for a moment. "Speak." I then say, as she looks pensive, and I don't quite like watching her think on such a subject with out knowing what she's thinking.

"I never thought of you as that sort of person…" is finally distinguished from the rest of her babbling and stuttering.

"And if I'd just met you on the street, I'd never think of you as the type of person to kill a man or leave soap at the bottom of the shower, either."

"But I didn't just meet you, Velma."

I can't help but wonder if she's just now realizing there's more to me than meets the eye. There always is, though to some one like Roxie, she probably wouldn't care if we were not in the same apartment building. To her statement, I shrug. It's not some thing that particularly bothers me.

"I'm tired." Abruptly leaves my mouth, and she still seems unable to process most of what I've just said. 12:45am is actually a bit early for me, but it's been a long week and I grow bored of sitting up watching black and white Mickey Mouse cartoons. I stand, stretch involuntarily, grab my coke and begin into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I shut the door, brush my teeth, gargle, and floss- in that order, leaving the lid off the toothpaste as is customary for me- and when I open the door, Roxie's standing near it, fiddling her hands with each other and that look on her face once again. I expect her to tell me she hates me before I go to bed, she does so every night, in a fashion that's some thing like "Velma?...Don't forget I hate you." to which I typically nod and go on my merry way. This time, however, it's different.

"Velma?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you testify against me in court?" she sounds a bit panicky, quite unnerved, to say the least. "Did you really want to see me hanged? And please.. be honest."

"I don't particularly enjoy the sight of young women being hanged, so as much as I would like to say 'yes', my answer is 'no'. Why this question all of a sudden?"

"Then why did you do it?" she asks, seeming to be quite perturbed about it. I wonder vaguely if this could be about some thing else, but let the thought pass. She also seems to be a bit more confused by my answer than any thing.

"I know Billy." was my shrugged reply.

"How did you get my journal?"

"Mama had it."

"Did _she _want to see me hanged?"

"No." I respond, eyeing her quizzically. "She hates seeing any one gets hanged, much less 'her girls'."

"Then why?!" she insists again, much to my own confusion.

"I knew it would get you out. I know Billy, I knew that journal was a fake- so did Mama, for that matter- and I knew he had it rigged to get you out."

"Did he ask you?"

"No, but he knows Mama well enough." I smirked.

At the moment, I can't help but think of what actually happened during that time. I had gone off explosively about Roxie stealing my "stuff", "stuff" that I can't particularly remember having mentioned, knowing that Mama had known some thing about what was going on with Roxie that I didn't know. She didn't realize what I was pulling on her, but she gave me what I wanted, any ways- the journal.

"_You don' wan'na see 'er hanged." She'd told me knowingly. _

"_Then what do I want?" I'd responded with a bit of a snicker. _

"_You like her, don't you?"_

_In ways, she was like a mom- or at least, like mine. She always seemed to know what was going on in my head. Always knew what I was going to do before I did it._

_Of course, I couldn't tell her either._

_I couldn't risk it being used against me._

_I liked Roxie Hart._

_With a liking that was more than a like…_

_So to her statement, I smirked and turned, ready to leave. "I'm testifying in court against her, and you say I like her?"_

_"You know what you're doing, Vel." she responded simply._

_She was right- I did. _

"You're lying!" she suddenly snaps at me, breathily, may I add. "That's not why!"

True, I have more to the story, but I don't expect her to know that.

"You wanted to see me hanged! You didn't like me…"

"And why didn't I like you?" I ask, hoping it may prove to her that my intentions were slightly more pure than what she imagines.

"Because… you wanted Billy for your own!"

"What?" I quirk a brow, sounding disinterested. At this point I'm ready to just _show _her that I like her so much. "No, I wanted you to get out of jail quicker- that way I could hurry up with my own court date. "

"We've lived together for four months, you think I can't tell when you lie?!"

That shocks me terribly. As far as I've known, she doesn't know the first thing about me. The fact that she's noticed tells me that I'm not the only one… I wonder if my face only feels hot, or if it's red.

"Be honest, Velma. Did you want to see me hanged?"

"No."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Haven't I given you explanation enough?" I sound angrier (I hope) than desperate to get her off my back. The more she makes me think of it, makes me feel it, the more it drives me crazy. I want to talk, I want to tell her, but I don't want her to know unless she figures it out for herself.

She shakes her head. "You're not being honest."

"How will you know if I'm being honest?"

"I'll know." She tells me, and I don't doubt her.

"It's not some thing I'm ever going to talk about."

"There's more room outside in this atmosphere than inside." She offers, and I laugh.

"That only works when I use it on you. "

She shakes her head again.

I sigh. "I didn't want to see you hanged."

"Why not? You didn't care too much when Katalyn was hanged."

"Not too much, although I still do pity her. She never had a chance, the poor girl. She must have been so confused. Any ways, I didn't want you hanged because you would make a good show partner."

"You're still lying." Roxie hisses, eyeing me up and down. "Do you like me in a sick way?"

I can't help but laugh at her 'in a sick way'.

"I wouldn't call it sick."

She doesn't say any thing more until I turn towards my bedroom door, not having any motivation to continue this conversation.

"So you've been keeping it a secret."

"I wouldn't call it a secret." I reply with out realizing it. Of course, she's going to ask what I mean by that- and how exactly do you tell some one 'well, I've been trying to tell you subtly, but you didn't get it'?

"Who did you tell?"

So not telling some one qualifies as a secret. Roxie is far too simple minded of a person, I can't help but smirk. "Billy." I tell her statively. She believes it- I can tell from the look on her face. Every thing she had said to begin with about knowing I was lying was a lie in itself.

"Why would you tell him?"

"To piss him off. It was actually a pretty long conversation."

"I don't believe you. How do you keep some thing like that a secret?"

I don't respond. How do you respond to that? After a minute or so, I turn the knob on my door, waiting for the conversation to end with an "I still hate you", but I have no such luck.

"You have a lot of secrets, don't you?"

It's a rhetorical question.

"Every one has secrets, darling."

"Every one also has at least one person they can tell their secrets to."

"If you tell a secret, it's no longer a secret."

"You like secrets?"

"You like questions?"

"I still hate you, Velma."

"That was random."

"How can you act like you don't even care?" she asks, her voice rising. "I'd care an awful lot if some one I loved said they hated me!"

"Because I already have what I want. Take that as you see fit." I finally sigh, pushing my bedroom door open. "It's bed time."

"Velma?" she starts, and I already know what's coming, though almost habitually I reply;

"Hm?"

"I don't hate you."

That's all she says. I hide it as usual, but it sends little electric shocks through my body. I wasn't expecting it at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at her, tempted to say some thing but not near bold enough. How ironic is it that a murderess is too cowardly to say some thing?

"Good night." She tells me, snapping me out of my trance. I nod.

"To you as well. " I respond, pushing the bedroom door open and stepping inside.

It's only a short while later when she comes blasting through the door. It's fine, I'm not nearly asleep, my mind is still attempting to process what exactly just happened.

"What do you want?" she asks, and I can feel her looking directly at me.

"Sleep."

"What do you want that you already have?" she asks, obviously confused though not upset in the least.

"It doesn't matter as long as I have it, does it?"

"It matters to me and it matters to you. It matters."

I sigh heavily. "Come sit down." I request, and she does- shutting the door before doing so. "What I wanted was to be with you." I tell her, closing my eyes- not that it makes a difference, as the room is dark.

"Most people who are in love…want the other person to love them in response."

"I don't."

"You do."

"What ever you say." I'm not in the mood to fight. If I were, I'd be more than happy to tell her I'm not 'in love' and what ever other nonsense comes spewing out of my mouth.

"Isn't it hard to keep so many secrets?"

"Only when I think about them."

"How can you not think about them?"

"I'm a complicated person." I tell her, mentally shrugging. "Who doesn't have the energy to psychologically analyze every question you're throwing at her right now."

"What if I said I liked you?"

"I'd tell you that you must never confuse having a service given to you that you are thankful for with liking some one in that way."

"I'd like you even if you weren't."

Her response pricks at my flesh. "No, you wouldn't. Like you said, you would hate me."

"Not now that I know exactly what was going on in your head. Had you just been honest we wouldn't have had that problem, but you would rather me think I was living with some one that wanted me dead?"

"I'm tired." I finally mutter. "We will continue this tomorrow."

However, she doesn't leave. She moves the blanket up and situates herself beneath it, rather comfortably.

For what ever reason, I don't have a problem getting to sleep after that.


End file.
